


Drink the Wine

by Pixeled



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Death, M/M, Nightmare, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 21:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20414449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: Veld has a nightmare that’s startlingly accurate.





	Drink the Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Written to Halestorm’s “Familiar Taste of Poison”

He takes the wine stem in his delicate hand, moves the glass to his lips, and takes a tentative sip as he looks at Veld over the rim.

“An old vintage,” Veld shrugs.

Vincent smiles as the liquid slowly travels down his throat, warming him. It’s drafty in Veld’s apartment. The window is broken, duct tape slapped over it haphazardly. Veld had promised to get it fixed. Veld hasn’t been home for days, though.

Vincent puts the wine glass down and cuts into the meat on the table in front of him. It’s aged beef and Veld has gone out of the way to cook.

“Thanks, boss,” Vincent whispers.

“Yeah, yeah. Happy birthday, Vince.”

That night Veld can’t sleep. It’s nothing new. Vincent has his arm curled around Veld’s side and he’s pressed close, lips against the pulse of his heart beneath his chest.

Veld doesn’t know when he drifts off, but when he wakes up, Vincent is nowhere to be found. He gets out of bed, walks through the apartment. There, at the kitchen table, Vincent has his head in his hands. He sleep walks sometimes. Maybe he’s sleep walked to the kitchen, laid his head down.

But something is wrong. Veld picks up a limp hand. There, where Vincent’s hand should be, is a clawed metal contraption. His hair spills everywhere, long and like an oil slick.

Veld feels his chest tighten as he drops the claw to the table. Instead of the sound of metal hitting wood he hears the drip of something._Drip __drip drip_.

Vincent disappears.

Veld is in a large room. Red rugs. Black walls. Sconces that hold large cream candles which burn yellow light, flickering. The light casts that yellow glow to the room. And in the center of the room is a coffin. It’s black lacquer and there is a bed of red roses over the center. It’s open. Veld is shaking as he walks over to it. He looks down. He is wearing his shiny black shoes, his Turk suit, Shinra’s logo emblazoned on his breast.

It takes forever to reach the coffin. The rug beneath him is a runner and it seems to glow in the light. There is a spotlight on the coffin. Helicopter blades churn above. He looks up. Sure enough, there is a helicopter above him and it shines the spotlight on him, on the coffin.

He looks inside the coffin.

That fine-featured face stares at him. Vincent’s eyes are closed as if in sleep, but he is dead. Veld knows it. He doesn’t look waxen or painted. His lips are drained of color, his cheeks high and pale. Paler than they’d ever been, like fresh fallen snow. His hair frames him like the fall of black lace. The red pillow beneath his head is stained with blood. Veld notices the blood in the corner of his mouth. He looks for injuries, reaching his hands out. But then he sees it. Just over his heart, a bullet wound. It oozes blood so dark it looks black. The drip drip drip of the blood flows down the coffin, spilling over.

Veld shoots up out of bed with a start, clutching his chest, his heart beating so fast he feels like he’s been running. Beside him, Vincent stirs. He looks down, takes him in. His hair is disheveled with sleep, but it’s not past his shoulders, spilling down his back. He curls closer to Veld, murmurs something incoherent.

Veld takes in steady breaths, trying to calm down, trying to get himself under control. He gets up, goes out into the living room, and sits on the couch, dragging his locked briefcase out from under the floor boards. He unlocks it, takes out the paperwork that will send Vincent away from him. He looks over it. He takes a deep breath.

Tomorrow.


End file.
